M-16's Can't Build Houses
by redpandasyndrome
Summary: A prisoner of war doesn't just 'sit and talk' about it, they relive it.
1. Chapter 1

**Someone take my laptop away from me, lol.**

* * *

"We have fifteen minutes left, Jade. Is there anything you want to talk about today?"

I shift uncomfortably against the leather. That voice. It was soft, yet somewhat demanding. It's also been the only one heard in this room after the first day. Dr. Tori Vega's voice was all I heard in this room, competing against the ticking of the clock, never mine.

"I know you never really wanted to come to these therapy sessions, Jade." Tori straightened up in her chair, pushing her glasses into her hair. "I'd like to believe that you've somewhat started to trust me after a month of silence together. We don't have to—" she paused, lowering her voice slightly. "We don't have to talk about _that_, but aren't you getting tired of just hearing my voice?"

I wanted to laugh. Her voice was the most constant thing in my life this past month. An hour and fifteen minutes of us just sitting here, the occasional prodding to get me to talk, and the ticking of the clock was so comforting to me that it would embarrass me if I didn't find so much solace from it all.

I used to find my parents comforting, their distance from each other and myself. I used to find Beck's presence comforting, including our little arguments every now and then. I also used to find my house comforting, but things are different now.

I let out a small sigh, shoulders slumping. Ten more minutes. Sometimes, I feel really bad for giving Tori the silent treatment. It's a waste of time for the both of us. She's just doing her job, though.

I know I should talk about it, but not today. That's been my mantra for the past month and I'm starting to wonder when I'll finally get tired of it. I keep thinking that someday, I'll just be so tired of saying it, that I blurt it all out. But it hasn't happened yet. I'm starting to lose my patience, and with myself, of all people.

It was still fresh. It hurt every day, just like I thought it would. I just never wanted to really experience it. Tori knew that. It's exactly why she never pushed me to talk, something I'm thankful for.

My eyes land on Tori when she stands up from her seat. She sets her glasses onto her desk, running her hand through her hair.

"I wasn't planning on telling you, but today's our last session."

The air in my lungs somehow escape, my eyes widening just a bit. I blinked a few times, getting rid of whatever look I had on my face. I scold myself for suddenly caring, my eyes swinging back to Tori, who was currently rummaging through her drawers.

A quiet "a-ha" and frantic scribbling was the only sound until she stood directly in front of me.

"Here." She held out a post-it, the neon orange causing my eyes to strain just a little. "I don't usually do this, but that's because everyone else who comes to see me are a little more cooperative. If you ever need to talk to me, call me. We'll go from there."

I gently grasp the post-it, my eyes repeatedly scanning over the seven numbers.

"Looks like our time's up," murmured Tori. She jerked her head to the side. "Go on. I'm sure you've got better things to do."

Slowly standing, I gather my things with one hand while the other clutches at the post-it. As I make my way to the door, I pause. Looking over my shoulder, I throw out a soft "thanks."

"Jade?" Tori turns to fully face me, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her slacks. "I'm sorry your parents forced you to come to therapy."

I give her a soft smile, which probably looked more like a grimace, and left. My fingers absently rubbed against the post-it before shoving it into the pocket of my jeans.

* * *

_I could feel the rawness of my wrists every time I moved, handcuffs rubbing against them each time. I wanted to cry, to beg, to just _be done_. But that wasn't what I was trained to do. I was trained to tough it out, to fight and protect my country. Yet, here I was, a prisoner of war. And what were they doing, my country, and my people? Were they planning to save me or have they moved on, finding others to protect them?_

_ There's no way for me to tell how many days it's been. I can't see the sun or feel the cool breeze I usually would on a boat. This could easily be the end for me. Whenever I fall asleep, I wish everything that's happened was all just a dream. I would wake up at my base, my roommate already gone, and start my day. _

_ They feed me sometimes. I used to fight it, used to avoid eating but hunger always wins, doesn't it? It's frustrating though. They used to feed me often and now, it seems that they wait a certain amount of time until they feed me next. It just feels like the space in between each meal becomes longer and longer. They could easily be poisoning me, killing my body from the inside out. And yet, I find myself trusting these people with my life. They have me here for a reason. They want answers from me that I don't even have. I know they'll keep me alive and I know that once they find out I don't know anything, I'm done for._

_Every time I hear them walking my way, the heavy boots stomping, I shudder just a bit. I know what's going to happen._

_ The two figures standing over me are always the same two guys. A part of me wonders when they'll get tired of doing this, but the more I think about it, they probably never will._

_ I'm pushed onto my back, strangely comfortable this way, resting on top of my cuffed hands. I should be scared that I'm so comfortable like this, but I'm not. I keep thinking it's just my way of adapting to the world, the circumstances. _

_ One of them grabs my legs, holding them together tightly. The other is kneeling at my right, cracking his fingers. Jesus, that is just the most horrible sound to me. I don't get it though, this thing that they do. It's not like they did this at the beginning. I just know that it can't be because they're told to do this. Maybe they're just looking for something to do while out at sea and this is the best kind of fun they have._

_Before I know it, his hands are on me. Squeezing my neck, his thumbs pressed right in the middle of my throat. I wish I could scream. I wish I could fight them because I know—_Iknow_— that if this were happening in the training room, I could take them._

_ I start to see dots and I'm wishing my hands weren't cuffed so I could just _claw _at his hands, his face. So I could just wrap my hands around his neck so he knows what it feels like. Whenever I close my eyes, I can see it. I can see the way it turns out. _

_ I'd grab at his hands, sink my nails into them considering their growth, and just hold onto him. God, would I love it if I could just pierce his skin with just my nails digging into him. And he'd lean back, try to pull away. His partner would let go of my legs and grab his shoulders, tugging, which only causes his hands to slide beneath my nails. I know they leave angry, red lines. I'd let go suddenly, both stumbling back, and I'd stand. Maybe even brush the dirt off of my uniform if I feel okay enough. _

_And somehow, it'd just be us two, with my hands wrapped around his neck. My grip would tighten every minute, watching at his hands fighting against mine. I would just watch, staring into his eyes as his pupils dilate and widen, and I'd feel him gasp—_

I bolt upright, my hand absently rubbing at my neck, sucking in deep breaths of air. Frowning, I lay back down, trying to calm my racing heart. I cover my eyes with my arm. It's always the same dream, with the same outcome. I've never gotten to the end of the dream. I never found out if I was rescued or not.

Rolling onto my side, I stared at my digital clock. 3:27AM.

Technically, I _was_ rescued. I'm here, back in my country, my home, my bed. It doesn't feel like home though, and it doesn't feel like I was saved. I feel like someone completely different. I'm not myself anymore, but everyone knew that. I feel like such a damn cliché for saying this, but I feel like the person I was died back there. All that's left now is just my body, a container that's now empty, waiting to be filled with… what? I have to start all over again. I have to figure out who I am again, and if I like the things I still like. I have to train my body to not flinch every time someone approaches me too quickly and I have to train myself to be okay around strangers.

Train. It's like I never stop training myself to do something. I'm constantly changing who I am into something else. It's the right thing to do, isn't it? I'm adapting. Besides, no one wants to be involved with someone who doesn't trust them, right?

I know I'm not going to fall asleep anytime soon but if I get out of bed, what could I possibly do to pass the time? And it hits me.

Tossing the blanket off my body, I scoot towards the foot of it and rummage in my bag. Pausing, my hand hovers ever so slightly before grabbing it. Clutching tightly to it, I crawl back into bed, lying on my back. Opening my hand, I stare at the crumpled neon post-it.

My thumb rubs against one of the edges, slowly, softly. It's reassuring to me, my heart slowing even more. My eyes begin to close, and I feel myself brushing my thumb against the post-it in a more urgent manner.

This post-it has suddenly become my substitute Dr. Vega. I can talk to this post-it, yes, but it doesn't talk back to me, doesn't give me feedback. It just _feels_ like I'm talking to her and I guess that's what truly comforts me. Not this flimsy paper and its edges, but the seven digits that permanently live on it.


	2. Chapter 2

It's early. I mean, early for a Sunday morning. It's 5:35AM, and Starbucks opened about five minutes ago. I couldn't fall back asleep last night, so I just stayed in bed until five, got up, and got dressed.

The steam from the cup sitting in front of me rises and my eyes follow until it disappears. After a few minutes, I let out a small sigh, angling my head slightly to the left to look out the window. I'm tucked away in a corner table, the sun starting to rise, filling the room with light.

I want to sleep. I so badly want to sleep without dreams because having these dreams ruined the one thing I used to need, _still _need, actually. I can feel my eyes fighting to stay awake even though I've already finished at least half of my coffee. I reach for it, wrapping both hands around it, enjoying its warmth.

The sound of approaching footsteps causes my head to turn, eyes connecting with chocolate brown. She gives me a small smile, stopping right at my table, a steaming cup in hand.

"Jade."

I clear my throat. "Dr. Vega."

She rolls her eyes, waves her hand. "I'm not your therapist anymore, Jade. Just call me Tori."

With a small smile, I nod. We stare each other for a little while before my polite side kicks in, making me want to smack myself.

"Did you… wanna sit?"

She looks a little relieved, giving me a smile. "Sure." The sound of the chair scraping against the floor makes me cringe ever so slightly, and I catch her wrinkling her nose at the sound also. She gently lowers herself onto the chair, setting her own cup onto the table that separates us.

"So…" I shift ever so slightly in my chair, cringing at just how bad I am at small talk. "What're you doing up so early on a Sunday?"

She takes a sip of her drink, eyes fluttering shut ever so slightly. "I could ask you the same thing."

"You can."

"So why are you up so early on a Sunday?" She raises a brow, leaning back in her chair.

I shake my head, a smile trying to take over my face. "I asked you first."

"You did."

"You answer first then."

She sighs, running her hand through her hair. I have now just realized that she's not wearing her glasses. It's kind of nice; looking at her eyes without them— wait. What? Did I just— no, no I didn't. Damnit Jade, pay attention.

"—so I figure I'd just get a head start on my day. I just really want enough sleep before going into work tomorrow. What about you? Why are you up so early?"

Crap. Way to miss almost her entire answer. "Uh, well, I couldn't really sleep last night. I mean, I did. I just woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't go back to sleep."

I can't decipher what look it was that crossed her face, but whatever it was quickly disappeared.

We sit there in silence for a little while longer, sipping on our coffee every now and then. I don't know how long it was but I guess silence between us is just normal now.

"What do you do in your spare time, Jade?"

I'm slightly thrown off by the question. What do I do in my spare time? What have I been doing? "Nothing really, to be honest." I frown slightly. "I'm usually home. Sometimes I watch TV or read. I run every afternoon but that's about it."

I can see the hesitation on her face, and I see her arguing with herself. Whatever it was, she's ignoring it, because she's smiling at me. What was that for? Is she afraid I'm going to go off on her with whatever it was she was going to say? "What do you usually watch on TV?"

Aw, damn. "I don't really know."

"Background noise?"

"What?" How did we go from TV to background noise? Has she lost it? How is she even certified to be a psychologist?

"The TV. Do you have it on just for background noise when you're home?"

Oh. _Oh. _Well damn, now I feel stupid.

"Something like that. Do you have anything you watch on TV?"

I can see a small blush appearing, a sheepish smile on her face. "A lot of shows about interior decorating."

I stare at her and it must look like I think she's lost her mind because she's avoiding my eyes, so I shrug. "Why? Are you redecorating or is it just a thing for you?"

She lets out a sigh, borderline dreamy. Her eyes are focused on my face now, and she rests her chin in her hand. "I've been watching since college, actually. Once I save up enough money, I plan on buying a house; an empty one, plain as day, so I can choose how it'll be decorated. So I watch the shows and—" Tori smiles at me, shrugs. "And hopefully, one day, I'll have my dream house."

I shouldn't have asked her because now, I'm seeing her as a person instead of just my therapist. How am I supposed to respond to that? I can't say that I relate, that I know what she means, because I _don't_. She's got a goal and she's been working on it for years now, and here I am, still finding myself. I'm a little jealous of her, to be honest, but I find it endearing at the same time.

"Jade?"

I raise my eyebrows ever so slightly.

"Sorry." Her cheeks flushed once again, waving her hand ever so slightly. That's the second time she's done that. "Um, just wanted to know if you were still… _here_. I'm sorry if my answer made you uncomfortable or anything. I know I basically just jumped from not sharing anything with you at all to telling you one of my life goals so I hope I didn't, you know, freak you out."

"No, it's… it's fine." I give her a small smile.

"Okay. So, what about you? Do you have anything you're working on?"

The corners of my lips twitch, causing me to clench my jaw ever so slightly. I let out a slow puff of air. "Not really. I've just kind of been trying to get back into the swing of things. I haven't really given my future any thought."

She tilts her head ever so slightly, her eyebrows drawing together, putting her face into a frown. "Why not?"

I pause, chew on my lip. I don't know if I want to answer. I know that if I don't tell her now, I'll probably just end up in bed again with her post-it, and just tell it to the empty space of my bedroom. I clear my throat, straightening up ever so slightly. "Because…" I glance around Starbucks, noticing that there were more people. My eyes trail over to the wall behind the register, realizing that it was now 6:15AM. My eyes find her face, and then focused onto the chair behind her. "Because I didn't think I'd still be alive."

The room felt ridiculously warm and I'm starting to regret wearing a sweater over another long sleeve. The look Tori's shooting my way is making me incredibly uncomfortable, the frustration and slight disappointment obvious on her face. Her eyes shut as she took in a deep breath, then letting it out slowly. Her eyes locked onto mine, her voice tight: "Why?"

I wanted to laugh. Not to spite her but just at the turn of the conversation, how the mood had suddenly changed. I wanted to, but the clouded look on her face kept me in check. I shrugged ever so slightly. This conversation was one I didn't want to have, so I stood. Her eyes widened, and then narrowed.

"Jade—"

I raise my hand barely up to my shoulder. Shifting my bag over my shoulder, I grab my coffee. "Two words, _Dr. Vega_." I watch as she flinches ever so slightly at the title. "Just two words and that's it, okay?"

She nods.

I made my way to the door, turning around to walk backwards slowly. "Survivor's guilt."


	3. Chapter 3

**Um, I kinda squished two chapters together because separately, it just didn't sound right to me...**

* * *

Three days. Three days of trying to keep myself away from that damn post-it. Three days of trying to find comfort in other things. Three days of trying to keep myself occupied, to forget about what happened at Starbucks. I catch myself thinking about it sometimes. I'll be doing dishes and I'll wash a mug that I used for coffee, and somehow my mind would end up replaying what happened. Other times, I'll just be lounging around the house and even though I'd be thinking of something else, like how many tiles made up the kitchen floor, I'd somehow end up thinking about it again.

The look on her face, though, was all I saw when I tried to go to sleep. It wasn't the nightmares of being choked or of killing someone, but of her face. The way it went from frustration to resignation, maybe even defeat. I saw the way her eyes softened, the way I could just _feel _the pity radiating from her. And maybe that's what got to me. I felt bad, even a little guilty, for just leaving after dropping a bomb like that. I knew that if I stayed, she'd want to talk about it. Once again, though, that was something I wasn't ready to talk about.

Lying on my stomach on the couch, I let out a heavy sigh, staring at the TV but not really paying attention to whatever show was on. I feel so damn _lame_, but since I stopped finding comfort from that post-it, I've caught myself gravitating toward shows about interior decorating. Sometimes there would be a completely remodeled house and I'd wonder if she liked it, liked the way it looked, or maybe even liked it enough that she wanted her dream house to look like that. Every time I caught myself, I wanted to slam my face into a wall. I wasn't supposed to be doing this… this _pining_.

That's what I'm doing, right? Pining? Which is absolutely ridiculous of me… isn't it? I mean, I hardly know her. Just because I sat in absolute silence with her for an hour and fifteen minutes for an entire month doesn't really mean anything. Besides, our brief conversation at Starbucks didn't really end on a high note— and there I go again, thinking about it.

I'm grateful to hear the sound of my phone ringing, and as I snatch it from the small coffee table, I sigh in defeat. I thought of ignoring the phone call, but knowing my parents, they'd keep calling. I clear my throat then accept the call, hoping they'd make it short.

"Hey."

"Jade, sweetie, I'm really sorry for not calling sooner. It completely slipped from my mind that your therapy sessions ended days ago! How're you feeling? Do you need us to stop by? Are you hungry?"

I clench my jaw. "It's fine. _I'm _fine. No need to worry."

"Don't be ridiculous, Jade. I'm your _mother_. I'll always worry about you."

And that's the complete opposite of what I want.

"Anyway, your father and I just wanted to check up on you. Are you absolutely positive you don't want us to bring you anything to eat?"

"I'm sure. You two go off and do… whatever you two had planned today."

"Actually, we just finished having brunch with Beck and his parents. We've got nothing else planned."

Hearing my mother actually mention his name was worse than I expected. The tense feeling from when I first came home suddenly reappeared, and my anxiety was building. I knew my mother and I knew her strategy. So when she puts whatever plan she has in motion, like I know she is now, I'll be in the middle of it all. And when it doesn't go right, I'll be the one left alone, licking my wounds.

"Have you spoken to Beck recently?" Her tone is hopeful, and it frustrates me. I don't want her to feel that way because I thought I had made it clear before, that we weren't going to get back together.

"No, I haven't. I don't think I will anytime soon."

She huffs and I hear shuffling in the background along with a few voices.

It dawns on me that the only reason she probably even called after brunch with them and offers to bring me lunch is because she'd have Beck do it. She'd call a few minutes after hanging up with an excuse, saying that she forgot she had an errand to run or that there was a sale going on somewhere. She'd mention that Beck was with her still, that he could swing by and drop something off.

The fact that I even came up with that scenario is giving me a headache.

"Well, I suppose if you aren't hungry, we'll leave you to whatever it is you're doing."

"Okay."

I hear another voice, and I hope that whoever it is, is telling my mother to get off of her phone.

"Your father wants to speak with you, if you're up for it." She's using that tone of voice, the one where she tries to sound sincere but really, she can't mask her impatience.

"Sure, why not?" I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling when I hear her huff once more.

"Jade! How's my pumpkin?"

I smile softly. Sometimes I hated when he used nicknames for me, but I knew he did it because it's what we did. It was our thing. _Is _our thing. He'd call me some ridiculous pet name and I'd try to come up with a better come back, although I haven't been able to since I was twelve.

"I'm doing alright."

"Your mother's not in the car. So, be honest with me."

I sigh. "I really am fine. Why is it so hard for everyone to accept that?"

"You're my baby girl. Until _I _think you're fine, you'll never be fine. So, let's try this again, shall we? How're you doing? And no more 'I'm fine' crap, got it? Or else you'll find me camping in your guest room for a month."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, _oh great one_, I don't know how I am."

"Therapy didn't work out, huh? I knew your mother was pushing you."

"It's fine. I'd have to go sooner or later."

"You know I know you better than you think right? Because I know that you probably didn't utter a single word to your therapist. Whether it was to spite your mother or because you just weren't ready. You're my daughter, _honeybunch, _so don't think I don't know."

I groan. "If you already know, then why bother asking me?"

"It's nice to hear it from you sometimes, that's all."

"Well, what do you want to hear from me? That I can't sleep? That I don't know who I am anymore?" I take in a deep breath, lowered my voice. "Or did you want to hear how three days ago; I said the most I've ever said to anyone to my therapist _after_ our sessions ended? How I feel like I'm going through withdrawal now that I don't see her every day like I have been for the past month?"

"Jade—"

I raise my voice, my body tensing, feeling my heart beat just a little faster and my face is suddenly warmer. "Maybe you want to hear how I can't seem to stop thinking about her and that I've somehow embedded her into my life after one conversation at Starbucks. Is that it? Is that what you want me to tell you?"

I hear him let out a puff of air. "Okay, Jade, I get it. Okay."

My shoulders start to relax, and I clench my eyes shut. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine, Jade. I pushed you even though I know I shouldn't have. Don't apologize."

"Dad, don't let me get away with this crap! What if I never learn from this and just keep doing it?"

"Well, we'll definitely know more about you if you keep doing this." The teasing tone in his voice stops me from saying something mean, whatever it was that was going to come rolling off my tongue.

"You're right. Maybe my therapist got to me with all the rambling she did the first few sessions."

"Then it was money well spent. Ah. Your mother's coming. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Sure."

"Alright then, I'll talk to you soon."

I end the call, dropping my phone onto the floor. With a groan, I push myself off of the couch and head to the bathroom.

Standing before the sink, my eyes concentrate on my face and I can't help but feel like I look paler than I've ever been. It kind of makes me sick and I can't help but wonder if I looked the same way as this when I last spoke to her.

Shaking my head, I put my hair into a tight ponytail. I fumble out of my shirt, my tank top riding up ever so slightly. With a frustrated tug at my tank top, it returns to place while I head into my bedroom. As I rummage through one of my drawers, part of me hopes that I'll run into her.

* * *

I'm so stupid. I guess it's true that you should be careful what you wish for. My eyes dart from her table to the crosswalk. She looked beautiful. Of course she would be the type who would ask for a table outside when eating lunch.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot, anxious. So many freakin' cars. Can the stoplight just turn red now so I can go?

The soft gust of wind caused me to shiver, the sweat on my neck being the main cause.

My eyes dart over to her again. She's standing, talking to someone, and I just wanna _go_. Why did I even want to see her today? What would I even say? God, Jade, could you be more stupid?

Before I know it, my eyes are staring right into brown ones. Her hand is raised ever so slightly, like a small wave, an awkward smile in place. I can feel my face turning red. I raise my hand ever so slightly before turning around, glaring at the stoplight, just waiting for it to turn red.

I let out a sigh of relief as the light turns red, and jog across the street. My legs are tired and I know that I could just walk the rest of the way home, but the anxious feeling in my stomach makes me antsy. I can feel the tip of my ponytail brushing across the nape of my neck every time my foot hit the ground.

As my house comes into view, I slow my pace until I'm basically walking. I rub my temples, feeling even more tense and unsettled than I did when I started my jog. The heat from the sun makes it seem like forever until I reach my door, and when I do, I slump against it. I close my eyes, feeling the cool wood against my burning skin, taking in deep breaths.

I fish my house keys from the pocket of my shorts; feeling relieved the moment I stepped inside. Closing the door behind me, I kick my shoes off and drop my keys onto a small table beside the couch.

The stillness of the house was deafening, and I made as much noise as possible on the way to the bathroom for a quick shower.

* * *

Sometimes, she hates coming here. All it does is bring back memories of people and places and events that make her stomach churn. Jade pulls the door open, immediately removing her cover but careful enough not to ruin her hair.

"Afternoon, Sergeant."

Her eyes zero in on the young man behind the desk, his face still holding its boyish charm. She glances at his collar: a private first class, probably fresh out of MOS school. Jade cringes and her mind is screaming, the words trying to claw up her throat. She wants to warn him that it isn't worth it, that he should get the fuck out of the service before it fucks him in the ass with a machete. Instead, Jade clears her throat, dips her head in acknowledgement and feels the familiar tightness at the back of her neck, reminding her that her bun is perfect.

"Is Sergeant Harris in today?"

The young man nods. "Yes, Sergeant, he's in his office. Do you want me to show you where it is?"

She shakes her head. "I think I'll be alright."

Jade makes a right, going down a wide and empty hallway. Her eyes wander along the walls, trailing over the photos.

But then she freezes because she's staring right at a picture of herself in her service uniform. Her eyes dart to the small paragraph beneath her picture and all that she can read is 'awarded' and 'prisoner of war' and it makes her sick. Because now, they know her face and they know her name.

Clenching her jaw, she continues down the hallway until she reaches the end. She knocks on the door on the left swiftly, and then opens it. She's met with chocolate brown eyes, eyes that she remembers seeing when she thought she was done for.

"West! What can I do for you?" He's leaning back in his chair so casually and for some reason it frustrates her. And then he smiles and she's fuckin' furious. How can he be this way? He was there with her and he acted like he wasn't affected at all.

She closes the door behind her, dropping herself into a chair and across from him. She rubs her face, frustrated at herself for being mad at his progress.

"How?" She grits out. "How are you so okay?"

Andre falters, his smile dimming. He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish as ever. "I've been seeing someone. A therapist. She's great at what she does and she doesn't push. I—you should set up an appointment, talk to her or something, if you're having trouble. I told her what happened to me there, and about you, and how hard it was to readjust to life here. She helped me find ways to cope if I ever hear or see something that just… sets me off. Here…"

Jade stares at him like he's fucking nuts because he was actually about to talk about what happened. He was recovering so fast it gave her whiplash. Andre finally hands her a card, and her eyes are burning holes into it: Tori Vega, (714) 601-6778.

What. The. Fuck.

"I'll think about it." She tucks the card into her pocket, shoulders stiff and her mind going a mile a minute. "I originally came here to ask if you were free this Sunday. The gang wants to have dinner."

He stares at her, brow raised. "You're joking."

"What?"

"You drove all the way to San Diego to ask me if I'd be able to make it to dinner?" Leaning forward, Andre has the beginnings of a smile tugging on his lips. "You couldn't just call?"

"That's impersonal."

"No, impersonal is sending me an invite on Facebook." He gasped suddenly, eyes wide. "Do you… miss me? Could it be? The toughest Sergeant that the Corps has ever seen missed me?"

Rolling her eyes, Jade stood up. "I'm leaving."

As she's about to close the door, she hears Andre shout after her: "See you Sunday!"


End file.
